


You're my mana from Heaven

by Baebadook



Series: Save a horse (Ride a cowboy) trilogy [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breaking Celibacy Vows, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Two Idiots Pining Harder Than A Tree, UnDeadwood, Western Gothic, diet angst if you will, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baebadook/pseuds/Baebadook
Summary: “A while back at the church, when you said you were staying.” Matthew begins. It’s fascinating to see now, that when he flushes enough it extends down his neck and crests his upper chest. “You asked me where I wanted you,” his breath stutters when he inhales, “I had to stop myself from saying on your knees.”The aftermath of Deadwood. Clayton finds that it's harder to leave than he thought it would be.





	You're my mana from Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Part two (2) of my Save a horse (Ride a cowboy) trilogy and a direct sequel from the first one. If you haven't read it you might wanna pop on over and check it out. Now with more of the other Deadwood 5, and some more feels, and of course more gracious glorious sex.
> 
> Title is yet again more lyrics from the song Hotter Than Hell by Dua Lipa. It's a goldmine for that Good Good religious symbolism.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clayton wakes with Matthew by his side. He stirs, sitting up with a groan when his brain begins to pound against his skull. He blinks slowly, glancing towards the window. The sun is beginning to to splay through the curtains and across the bed. He rubs a hand down his face and then turns to look at the Reverend, still out cold and sprawled across the bed. It’s a wonder he got any sleep at all last night with him giving off heat like a furnace and hogging the whole mattress. He’s even snoring. There’s drool coming out of his mouth.

It’s the dumbest fuckin’ thing he’s ever seen.

It’s also kinda phenomenal to see him this way. Face devoid of its usual worried creases, a blank sort of contentment that only comes from a peaceful sleep. Perhaps he had a dreamless night as well. It’s certainly something he deserves.

He shakes the thought from his head and climbs to his feet, waking up little by little with the cold floorboards pressing into his feet. He goes about locating his clothes and putting them back, Matthew not even so much as flinching as he clunks around. That man could sleep through a tornado. It’s a little impressive. 

But not the incessant knocking of someone’s hand against the door, apparently. He snorts and snuffles and blinks his eyes open blearily.

“Mr. Sharpe? It’s just me.” Miriam says through the door. Clayton makes eye contact with him for a beat. And then he’s up and out of bed remarkably fast for someone who was just passed out not a minute earlier. Generating an awful lot of noise while he’s at it. Clayton rolls his eyes and heads for the door.

“Morning Miriam.” He says once it’s open, just enough for him to see all of her properly. She’s dressed as impeccably as always, composed and put together. The only thing that gives away her nerves is the way she wrings her hands together.

“Good morning. I’d rather think we should rouse the others and get to work.” Straight at it as always. He has to admire her work ethic, really.

“Sounds like a plan.” He watches her go over to the Reverend’s door and start to knock. What a fuckin' morning this is turning out to be. “No need, he’s right here.” He pulls the door open wider and there he is behind him indeed. Wrinkled night clothes and dried drool clinging to his cheek. Matthew freezes, almost like if he doesn’t move she won’t see him anyways.

She turns and blinks like she can’t quite process the sight in front of her and he can’t blame her- neither can he.

“Reverend Mason had a few thoughts he wanted to share with me is all.” He explains.

“Right, yes. It felt imperative to speak with him right away. Strike while the iron is hot and all that.” Matthew adds. 

He can’t quite tell if she believes them or not. But then again she doesn’t give them much time to.

“Well the iron’s getting cold and we have things to do. It’s best if you get dressed and meet us downstairs.” He looks downright chided, letting out a meek ‘yes ma’am’ and scuttling off to his room.

Decidedly wanting to stay on her good side, Clayton closes the door and heads down the hall with her. There’s a moment of silence, before-

“I’m glad to see that you and the Reverend are getting along.” She says. He wisely doesn’t walk into _ that _ particular bear trap and waits for more. Because there’s always more with her. “He’s a good man. You are, too.”

Something close to anger coats his mouth like ash and he swallows it down.

“No offense, but you don’t know a thing about me.” Just the way it should be, he thinks. She stops him with a hand and looks at him, really looks at him.

“I know that you have a past, something to do with that nickname of yours. But I also know that you care more than you let on.”

“A past.” He says faintly.

“We all have one, every one of us. But we’re here now and we need to make the best of it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” A tight pain in his chest expands until he inhales deep and blows it out slow. “No good comes out of Deadwood. None. All I see happenin’ is four bodies in a grave- the only difference is if I’m the one to put them there or not. If I were you, I’d leave the first chance I got. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.” He shoves his hat onto his head and leaves her behind, down the steps and out the door with a glare to anyone who dares to get too close. He waits at the Gem for the others to arrive. Waits for that ache to unfurl itself from around his heart.

-

He doesn’t end up leaving.

When all is said and done Deadwood is back to what it used to be. So, just as broken down and depraved as usual, except now their dead actually _ stay _ that way.

It’s not for lack of trying either. Seems like every time he’s about to walk out the door something stops him. Miriam, with a gentle hand and requests of favors he doesn't feel right turning down. Not with how kind she’s been to him for no reason, and _ especially _not when he knows how good she can work that gun of hers. Arabella is just as bad, if not more blunt and eccentric in her needs but he can’t refuse her all the same. He knows the game they’re playing and he lets them anyways.

Matthew would let him go. He’s far too kind and self-sacrificing to tell anyone what he actually wants. The one exception being weeks ago in his room at the Bullock Hotel, and, he tries not to think on that too hard.

The Reverend looks at him like he’s surprised he’s still there, a kind of guarded expression that he _ also _ doesn’t try to think about. All Clayton can think is good, don’t get used to it cause you’re gonna get let down. He’s not sticking around.

He’s not staying.

Until he is, because Al has a new job for them of _ utmost importance and discretion, _and as much as he’d love to tell him to go fuck himself after all the bullshit they went through, the pay is good. And he can’t deny that he feels an itch. That his guns feel hot on his sides. That dangerous excitement he feels is echoed through the others as they climb atop horses, Aly whooping with glee and Bella grinning like a hunter on the trail of its prey.

Even Aloysius, with all of his rousing jokes and playful jabs catches his eye across the campfire one night. The horses are tied nearby and silent, the others all asleep. Matthew on his back with his rosary and bible tucked close by. Miriam and Bella pressed at the side in an attempt to stave off the cold nip in the air. It’s just the two of them up amongst a sea of stars and the bright moon and Aly looks at him squarely over the brim of his cup.

“It’ll be too damn quiet without you around Coffin.”

Well, _hell_. Damn him. Damn them all and the incessant way they’ve crawled under his skin and made a home.

-

“So are you gonna ride off to bigger and better places now?” Johnny asks later, after the money has been collected and the celebratory shots have gone down smooth. The rest of them have gone for the night, scattered to various corners of town and it’s just him. Staring down into his cup like it personally did him wrong. He glances up at Johnny, who looks at him with open curiosity. Tops off his drink for him just because he can. The next mouthful ain’t as smooth as the last and he winces. Curses at the fact that he doesn’t have enough sense in him to walk out that door right now and disappear out of this shithole forever. One day, his past is going to catch up with him. History has a mighty fine penchant for repeating itself and he can only hope that those around him won’t end up going down _ with _ him. Even though hope’s never got him very far.

He waves off another refill and stands. Retrieves his hat off the bar.

“Nah. Was thinkin’ about stickin’ around for a while.”

“That’s great! I’m sure the boss’ll be pleased to hear it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t give a shit.”

He’s not the one he’s staying around for.

-

Miriam is too much of a lady to say it outright, but the “I Told You So” comes off of her in waves even as she pulls him into the tightest hug she can possibly muster. Then she’s pulling him up out the door of the Gem and down the street to the church.

The revision process has started, but it’s slow going when not enough people give a shit to help. Bella’s out front dressed down in pants, still looking as magnificent as ever even with a smudge of paint dashed across her chin. The front doors have been removed to get fixed up, and a few cans of paint and varnish are at her side as she adds a fresh coat to them.

Aly catches a glimpse of them first, pausing where he’s sawing planks to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow.

“Well now, look what the cat drug in!”

Miriam beams at his side. Their excitement is so infectious all he can do is grumble and roll his eyes, no actual heat to the gesture.

There’s rustling from inside, and Matthew steps out from the church. He’s also dressed down, just in his slacks and white button down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his arms as he hefts a sledgehammer with an almost flippant ease.

If he’s being one hundred percent honest with himself, he feels a little woozy at the sight of him.

“Clayton.” He says, somehow a question and statement all wrapped into one. He looks like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He’s gonna make him say it.

“Thought I might stick around for a while longer, ‘case any other weird shit starts happening.” It’s as good of a reason as any, even if it’s only a bit of the actual truth, but they don’t need to know that. Matthew’s face practically splits into a full grin, eyes alight in the sun. Standing on the step of a broken down church he looks, for lack of a better word, holy.

Clayton clears his throat and glances away, not before he catches the other three bozos sharing looks. He’s really startin’ to think he should’ve walked when he had the chance. Instead he shrugs off his coat and adds his hat to the pile.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get too excited about it. Where do you want me?”

He ends up hammering nails into place, hair tied back to keep it off his neck. He tries to, anyways. It’s a little hard to concentrate on his work when Matthew glides through the place, hefting things left and right while he cheerfully hums some church hymn. That smile still stuck firm on his face.

It isn’t until later- after Bella’s bandaged a wounded finger or two- when they sit on the church steps after a day of work and Miriam’s handing them all a drink. She looks at him with a knowing kinda smile he doesn’t particularly like and tells him that he had been humming to the same tune.

-

Weeks go by and the church gets fixed. They fix it to the best of their abilities at the very least, with an extra hand or two now and again. Matthew hadn’t been able to sit still ever since, and Aly had corralled all of them off to the Gem.

Matthew had been staying at the Bullock Hotel with the other two men until the church had been in a good enough state to be lived in. Miriam had eventually went on to stay with Bella at her house, and though she had offered, he doubted her husband would have been too keen on letting three strange men stay there as well, priest or no.

So it was weeks of breakfast with Aly’s teasing quips and raucous laughter. Clayton hiding a grin behind his mug of coffee while Matthew gripes and grumbles about how early it is. Watching him eat and work with his hands, trying not to think about just where those hands had been.

_ \- Shaking fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezing. _

Sometimes their eyes would lock while they worked. And Clayton would feel like his skin was on fire.

_ \- Open so wide, dilated. Blinking down and watching with rapt attention while Clayton sank to his knees before him. _

It’s like Matthew had pulled him in. With a look, a touch, and he’s left wanting more. A deep seated want that buzzes just below the surface, a teasing _ ache _ that his hand and fingers can’t get rid of. It’s frustrating at best and inconvenient at worst.

Aly treats them all to the first round in celebration for their hard work, and it’s...nice. As loathe as he was to admit it, their presence these past few months have been a welcome change from drifting on his own. Even if he doesn’t think he deserves it. Despite the fact that even saying it internally feels like he’s giving them a death sentence and a hole in the ground to lie in. But he listens and cracks the occasional joke. It’s worth it to see Matthew through back his head and laugh, loud and free.

Even he joins them for the first round. Meaning he takes a few sips and then leaves it half full on the table in front of him. Miriam happily takes it off his hands. It’s something he’s been curious about in the past. He remembers hearing those lowlifes whispering about the Reverend being a drunk, how the words had seemed to affect him. He wonders about him, about his past, though it’s not his place to. He understands more than ever the want- no _ need _ to tuck things away.

Eventually they all separate, first Bella and Miriam back to her house, and then Aly stands with a cheeky salute to go and look for Annabelle. Which just leaves the two awkward conversationalists at the table, lovely. While the Gem is never truly empty, it’s current sparse customers are quiet for the late night, something that feels amplified as he downs the final dregs of his cup.

After about another minute goes by before he stands.

“Think I’ll tuck in for the night.” He says evenly. Matthew rises with him; clumsily and nearly knocking his knee into the table in the process. Clayton suppresses a snort.

“Let me walk with you.”

“The church is in the opposite direction.”

“A little walking never hurt anybody. Besides.” He’s looking around at the other few patrons and then back to him. “May I uh, may I speak with you in private?” 

“Sure, alright.” His blood _ thrums _ through his veins at the possibilities of what this conversation might entail, and judging by the red staining Matthew’s cheeks he’s got a few solid theories.

The walk to the hotel is a short and silent one. And once again he finds it’s not as awkward as one should find it. Their arms brush together as they walk. He leads him upstairs to his room and swings open the door without much finesse. He follows him inside.

And once again the good Reverend is standing in his room, looking almost as flustered and flushed as the last time.

“Would this happen to have something to do with our...enlightenin’ conversation a few weeks ago?” He knows he’s being a tease but he can’t help himself. He gets a kick out of watching the man squirm for a bit.

“Yes. I was merely wondering- that is, if you’re interested.” He breaks off and swallows. Clayton follows the movements and yearns at the thought of getting his lips back on his skin again. He grins. Finds it kinda funny how he can lead a man up to his room and he still wonders if he’s _ interested_.

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d say that. Consider me _ very _ interested.” Clayton slides the lock into place, a familiar thing, and wonders briefly if this is going to become their own ritual. A private dance just for the two of them. He turns and manages not to startle when he finds that Matthew is suddenly much closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” Matthew asks, nay breathes into the space between them. A smirk twitches at the corner of Clayton’s mouth.

“Shit, you still think you have to ask?”

That in itself seems to be the only answer he needs, apparently, because then he’s pressed against the door in one swift step. Matthew kisses him like he’s desperate for it, and Clayton grunts and grips a handful of his shirt so he can drag him in closer.

“Been thinkin’ about this all week.” He gets out between heated kisses, all lips and teeth and he breathes in the scent of him. His aftershave, a hint of sage that Bella had insisted on giving him.

“Really?” Matthew asks, voice already a deep rumble, and he wants to be wrapped in the sound of it.

“Yeah, fuck.” He pitches his hips forwards to brush against him, let’s out a shaky breath when his cock grinds into him. He’s already half hard in his pants and they haven’t done anything more than kiss. He blames him and his stupid smile and ridiculous muscles in his ridiculous white shirt and slacks.

Matthew lets out a noise and mimics the movements. Presses a sloppy kiss into his neck. “I have been too.” He murmurs so quiet, his own personal confession.

They rut against each other, want driving every sharp thrust and sending hot rivets of pleasure through him. Clayton groans into his mouth and the door rattles beneath him. As much as he’d love to continue necking like teenagers, he has plans. He also doesn’t want the door to collapse. Thrilling as it may be, he doesn’t feel like putting Matthew’s strength to the test right now.

“Not that I’m not enjoying myself- believe me _ I am_\- but I we should continue this in bed.” He says, can feel the tingle of Matthew’s beard scrape against his neck as he rests his head against his shoulder and pants hot and wet. He wonders if he’s gonna have any visible marks on his skin, from his lips or his beard. He wonders if he’s gonna give a shit. Probably not.

“Right.” They separate reluctantly after a few more kisses and Clayton tugs him over to the bed. He settles himself overtop the sheets with his head at the pillow and chuckles low when Matthew stands hesitant at the foot.

“C’mon. I won’t bite. Not unless you want me to.” Matthew sputters.

“You’re ridiculous.” He says, but climbs into bed with him anyways. He settles, albeit awkwardly on top of him, and Clayton presses an arm around the back of his neck and drags him down and into another kiss.

The position is _ just right _ and he hisses when Matthew grows more confident with his position, presses into him more when he doesn’t protest. Quite on the contrary, Clayton rolls his hips against him and lavishes his mouth and neck with filthy kisses. Clutches at him hard and keeps him there, addicted to the sounds that fall from his lips.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Reverend?” It’s nearly a growl that leaves him, pressed hot on the shell of his ear. Matthew jerks against him, whines.

“Clayton.”

“I want you to.” He pulls away just enough so he can look him in the eye. “Is that something you’re interested in?”

Matthew nods once, throat moving, chest heaving.

“Yeah. I- yes. _ Please_.”

“Well, being as you said please,” he nips at his lower lip, tongue sliding across to smooth the sting. “First we need to get out of these pesky clothes.” There’s some shifting, and with another nod of consent he pops the buttons open on that damned shirt of his and slides it off his broad shoulders. Goddamn if he ain’t the most gorgeous man to walk the earth.

“It’s a _ damn _ shame how much you have to hide from the world.” He runs a hand across his hip, stares down at the trail of hair that dips down into his pants. Matthew stifles a giggle by biting his lip, and Clayton tucks away the information that the Reverend’s ticklish for a later date.

Even though he’s already seen it once before his breath is still knocked from his lungs when he gets his pants off. He’s almost tempted to repeat the events of their last time, but he wants that cock inside of him. Sooner rather than later.

“A while back at the church, when you said you were staying.” Matthew begins. It’s fascinating to see now, that when he flushes enough it extends down his neck and crests his upper chest. “You asked me where I wanted you,” his breath stutters when he inhales, “I had to stop myself from saying on your knees.”

Well, at least they’re on the same page. He shudders at the admission, arousal like a punch to the gut.

“That can be arranged, at a later date.” He starts to work at his own clothes, wanting to be out of them yesterday, grunting appreciatively when Matthew assists him with the task.

And then they’re both naked in bed together. Clayton’s never given much thought to his appearance either way, but he still shifts a bit under the Reverend’s gaze. His eyes rake him up and down, taking in his body, his scars.

“You’re breathtaking.” He says, always so goddamn earnest in every single thing that he does. Clayton ducks his head to the side, cheeks significantly warmer now. He doesn’t know what to say to that. So he turns more until he can get to the bedside drawer and dig out the container of oil he keeps within it. It’s seen some use as of late- he can thank the good Reverend for that- and he gets himself comfortable once more, adjusting the pillow so it supports his hips.

Matthew watches him curiously. “What do I. Uh.”

“You don’t have to do anything darlin’. ‘Cept sit there and look pretty.” He coats his fingers nice and good and slips one inside of himself. His cock aches against his stomach but he ignores that for now, opts to look at Matthew while he stretches himself open for him. Matthew swallows hard.

“You’ve done this before.” It’s a statement, not a question, voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“Mm-hmm.” He adds another finger, moans at the stretch that comes with it. Crooks them just right until he’s twitching and clenching around his fingers. Matthew looks like he has more questions but he doesn’t voice them, merely watches while he fucks himself open.

A while after adding a third digit his impatience gets the best of him and he withdraws them with another grunt, hole clenching on nothing.

“Alright, now just coat yourself good n’ we’re ready.” Matthew takes it with shaking hands. Clayton reaches out to steady him. “You okay?”

Despite everything Matthew smiles, something fond in his expression as he squeezes his hand. “I’m doing good, thank you. You?”

“Never better.” He relaxes back, splays his legs a bit wider, and now it’s his turn to do the watching. Matthew slicks his cock with a generous amount, mouth going slack as he touches himself, thumbs across the top. 

He quirks a brow. “Have you been practicing, Matthew?”

“A little bit, yes. I think you bring out the worst in me Clayton.” He ducks his head but there’s a small smile to his face. Clayton snorts.

“I’d argue it’s the best, but to each their own I ‘spose.”

At long last Matthew lines himself up and presses into him little by little. Clayton gasps the sound leaving his throat rough at the stretch and he clutches his shoulders. Matthew seems to be just as affected and moans once he’s fully inside of him, buried down to the hilt. Clayton’s toes curl at the sensation of being completely full and he shudders.

Matthew has his eyes shut tight, almost as if willing himself not to come on the spot. He knows the feeling. He’s been thinking about this for a while now, and it’d be a shame for it to end so soon.

“Please.” He says when he can’t take it anymore, rocking his hips into his cock. Matthew breathes out deep and finally complies, pulling out until he’s almost at the tip and sliding back in. Clayton groans. He wraps his legs around him. “Harder. I’m not gonna break.”

He must take that as a challenge, because the next cant of Matthew’s hips actually pushes him up the mattress an inch, sliding on wrinkled and damp sheets. He makes a broken kind of noise in the back of his throat at the feeling.

“Fucking hell.” He manages to bite out, voice high and strangled as it is. Above him Matthew grins.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a filthy mouth Clayton?”

“I’m sure it’s been mentioned a time or two. Now hurry the fuck up.”

They begin a sort of rhythm, grinding against each other. Clayton tilts his head back and pants, mouth open and breath warm. The room feels so hot as they move together even with the window cracked open. The bed creaks below them with every move and joins the sounds of skin against skin.

His cock slides deep within him and he bares back down onto it hard. He wants to be fucked open so hard he can’t walk in the morning. And Matthew seems to be working towards that very goal as he shifts and braces a hand on the headboard above him. He thrusts, brushing against that spot inside of him that has him arching off the mattress and keening.

“Holy fuck. So good.” He can only babble out broken phrases, praises, as pleasure rocks through him. Pre-come is dripping out of his cock and onto his stomach. He grapples for Matthew’s neck and pulls him into a searing kiss.

Here and now, in this moment, Clayton thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to Heaven.

The other hand that isn’t currently clutching the headboard in a vice grip moves down between them. Clayton’s breath stutters in his chest when fingers wrap around his neglected cock, finally getting a bit of relief.

Matthew’s thrusts become uneven and he breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Clayton’s chest.

Clayton’s blunt nails dig into the flesh of his back, lust pooling tight in his gut. His thighs tremble and quake with the strain of keeping the position. He clenches hard and bucks into him. With a few more deep thrusts Matthew’s gone, coming with a muffled whine. His seed spills hot into him and he shudders once more as he stills on top of him.

They remain that way just long enough for Matthew to catch his breath, and then he slides his hand around him again.

“Fuck.” He says, wound so tight it’s at the edge of painful. His balls tighten. That hot pressure is a hair trigger waiting to be pulled.

“I’ve got you.” Matthew says. His voice is rough but soothing, a deep comforting rumble. “Come for me.”

Clayton does. He also thinks he might’ve blacked out for a second but he can’t honestly be sure. What he can be sure of is that that was one of, if not the best fucks of his life. He comes back down from his orgasm slowly, light headed and _ incredibly _ satisfied. He swallows and tries to work the saliva back into his dry mouth and throat.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters. Matthew shakes his head but doesn’t chastise him for it.

“It’s just me I’m afraid.” He stands, and for a moment Clayton thinks that he’s going to get dressed and leave, but instead he digs around until he finds a handkerchief.

“I think I much prefer you to him.” Clayton thinks. He realizes that he’s said it aloud when Matthew pauses cleaning them off. Well, fuck. His brain to mouth filter is shot to shit.

“That’s a mighty fine compliment coming from you.” He says, and he knows that he means it. He wisely decides to keep his mouth shut after that, lest he say anything else he doesn’t intend to. Once he’s sufficiently cleaned up Matthew tosses the rag to the floor and stretches out beside him.

“Good?” He asks.

“Fuckin’ phenomenal. You?”

Matthew still looks so fond. This time he’s the one to lean across to meet him, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “Phenomenal is a pretty good word for it I think.”

They settle together in bed. Clayton somehow manages to get the sheets out from under them and tosses them across their bodies. He’s loose and languid, a numbing fatigue from their activities taking ahold of his limbs. He extinguishes the lantern on the bedside table. His guns are still there as well.

“I’m glad that you decided to stay.” Matthew says after a while.

Clayton shifts until he’s comfortable, and an arm presses against his in the darkness.

“I think I am, too.” God help him, he is.

Sleep takes him eventually. He dreams this time, but it’s not of darkness and harsh words. There’s no more Dealer, and his past undoubtedly haunts him still but he has a reprieve from that tonight. It’s of familiar faces. People he might even go as far as to call friends. Of moments spent together. He feels closer to peace than he has in a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read my fic! Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated with my entire being, but only if you want to!
> 
> You can come talk to me on my Critical Role blog: https://baeuregard.tumblr.com/ Likes and follows come from my main blog shakenbaeky.
> 
> You can also join the UnDeadwood Discord server if you want to! Just hit me up either here or on tumblr if you want the link so you can talk about this good good western show. We're kinda small but a wonderful loving bunch and we'd love to have you. (There is also shippy talk! And it's not all NSFW, if that's what you're worried about.)


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